[ It steals his breath almost entirely; everything feels like it stops in that moment before Noctis leans down into his needy touch. The alpha's hips are tightly pushed up against his own even through the couple of little instinctive jerks he can't quite calm, pressing that thick knot as deep as it will go, just making him feel-- and fuck, fuck, it's almost too much. This burning ache-- the flare of Noct's scent, the points of heat every single place they're touching, the pressure seeming to empty him out entirely, fill him back up with Noctis. All he can feel-- all he can taste, smell, hear, see, feel is Noctis.
The man's beard scratches at Prompto's palms as his quivering hands finally touch him, his breath sobs quietly back into his lungs, and suddenly that soft mouth is against his own again. Gently, gently, a soothing balm over his scorched nerves, and Prompto whimpers gratefully into it, slowly curling his arms up around Noctis' shoulders, letting him take the weight of his body entirely. This... gods, this feeling, if he could freeze it, all this low-boil ache and the sweet affection that makes his heart tremble in his chest, all this adoring and feeling so utterly claimed and held so dear--
--oh. Noctis is shifting, nudging a bit closer, and readjusting one of Prompto's legs upward. The other follows suit out of simple balance-- until they're both hitched up high around Noctis' waist, crossed at the ankle to hold them there. The new position lets that knot sink in deeper, a roll of Noct's hips nearly knocking the air out of him again. Fuck, how is it possible to feel this much? He moans against the older man's mouth, and he barely recognizes his own voice; it's thick and low, scratchy, shattered with exertion.
And then... Noctis calls him perfect. At some point, he's going to have to really sit down and have a good heart-to-heart with himself over why such direct praise from this man is making something warm and liquid twist languidly between his legs, why it sets his head spinning, makes him so desperate to earn more-- but as is, Prompto just nods sharply, gasping. He had taken it all, he does feel it, he's so good for Noct, so good, so good. The tugging pressure at his stretched-tight rim makes his head snap back, the flare of sensation (is it pleasure or pain? gods he can't tell, it's both, it's neither, it's exquisite) scorching through him before that knot is buried in deep again with a shallow (but slightly more forceful) plunge. Prompto's legs shiver hard, his neglected cock jumping back to full attention, angry-red and leaking against his flat belly-- oh, now that ache is shifting, curling in on itself somewhere deeper, dense and coiling and blisteringly hot.
He doesn't need to be told twice. (Though it is somewhat difficult to gain control over most of his motor functions.) Prompto rolls his hips, grinds back against that pressure, drawing in with his inner walls-- and the shift is just right, pushing the blunt heat of the swelling knot right up against the sensitive gland inside of him. He arches up high, a wordless cry escaping his throat; pleasure floods through him, impossibly deep, balls giving a throb and cock giving a sharp jerk, spilling a hot shock of precome against his stomach. So much, so much. ]
Fuck-- [ He chokes on the words, vision white, scrabbling at Noctis' shoulders for purchase. ] Noct-- it's-- [ Another whimpering cry cuts him off, before he swallows hard, looking up at his alpha through wet eyelashes-- and giving another slow squeeze, moaning again through the pulse. ] Does... it feel good...? F-for you... too--
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Date: 2018-04-12 03:14 am (UTC)The man's beard scratches at Prompto's palms as his quivering hands finally touch him, his breath sobs quietly back into his lungs, and suddenly that soft mouth is against his own again. Gently, gently, a soothing balm over his scorched nerves, and Prompto whimpers gratefully into it, slowly curling his arms up around Noctis' shoulders, letting him take the weight of his body entirely. This... gods, this feeling, if he could freeze it, all this low-boil ache and the sweet affection that makes his heart tremble in his chest, all this adoring and feeling so utterly claimed and held so dear--
--oh. Noctis is shifting, nudging a bit closer, and readjusting one of Prompto's legs upward. The other follows suit out of simple balance-- until they're both hitched up high around Noctis' waist, crossed at the ankle to hold them there. The new position lets that knot sink in deeper, a roll of Noct's hips nearly knocking the air out of him again. Fuck, how is it possible to feel this much? He moans against the older man's mouth, and he barely recognizes his own voice; it's thick and low, scratchy, shattered with exertion.
And then... Noctis calls him perfect. At some point, he's going to have to really sit down and have a good heart-to-heart with himself over why such direct praise from this man is making something warm and liquid twist languidly between his legs, why it sets his head spinning, makes him so desperate to earn more-- but as is, Prompto just nods sharply, gasping. He had taken it all, he does feel it, he's so good for Noct, so good, so good. The tugging pressure at his stretched-tight rim makes his head snap back, the flare of sensation (is it pleasure or pain? gods he can't tell, it's both, it's neither, it's exquisite) scorching through him before that knot is buried in deep again with a shallow (but slightly more forceful) plunge. Prompto's legs shiver hard, his neglected cock jumping back to full attention, angry-red and leaking against his flat belly-- oh, now that ache is shifting, curling in on itself somewhere deeper, dense and coiling and blisteringly hot.
He doesn't need to be told twice. (Though it is somewhat difficult to gain control over most of his motor functions.) Prompto rolls his hips, grinds back against that pressure, drawing in with his inner walls-- and the shift is just right, pushing the blunt heat of the swelling knot right up against the sensitive gland inside of him. He arches up high, a wordless cry escaping his throat; pleasure floods through him, impossibly deep, balls giving a throb and cock giving a sharp jerk, spilling a hot shock of precome against his stomach. So much, so much. ]
Fuck-- [ He chokes on the words, vision white, scrabbling at Noctis' shoulders for purchase. ] Noct-- it's-- [ Another whimpering cry cuts him off, before he swallows hard, looking up at his alpha through wet eyelashes-- and giving another slow squeeze, moaning again through the pulse. ] Does... it feel good...? F-for you... too--